Page 107 of Dance of Deception

"You’re going to come all over my big dick, aren’t you? So fucking desperate for cock you don’t even care how rough I am."

Slam.

He rails into me, forcing the breath from my lungs as my eyes roll back.

"There’s no escape, Lyra. No running now. You belong here—under me, pussy stretched around my cock, screaming my name. Don’t you dare close your legs. Keep them wide open and take it like agood girl."

Slam.

Drool soaks the panties stuffed between my lips. My legs begin to shake. Explosive fire catches deep in my core, spreading like napalm through my veins as my whole world shifts on its axis.

"I told you I’d break you. And now you’re going to thank me for it by having that pretty little cunt squeeze every drop out of me. Be a good girl and fucking come for me, baby.”

His hips ram into me, punctuating every word.

“Come. For. Me. Right. Fucking.NOW.”

The pleasure is coiled so unbearably tight that when it snaps, it’s not a release—it’s an obliteration. My entire body shatters, breaking apart and reforming around the pulsing, insane ecstasy that consumes me whole.

The orgasm slams through me so hard my vision blurs. Every muscle seizes around him, milking the cum from him, demanding more and more even as pleasure detonates inside me, stealing my breath.

It’s almost too much—too strong, too intense—and I sob through it, my body convulsing as he drives me over the edge again and again. My body clenches around him like it never wants to let go, every scrap of pleasure tightening, squeezing, wrecking me completely.

With a loud, roaring cry, Carmine buries himself inside me. His cock throbs and twitches, and I melt when I feel the powerful ropes of hot cum spill into me, pumping me so full that I can feel it leaking out from where we join.

I can feel his touch everywhere—his teeth on my throat, his fingers in my skin, the weight of his thick cock inside me.

I should feel shame.

But all I feel ishis—wrecked, taken, consumed by the man who just broke me open and put me back together.

20

CARMINE

I don’t sleep.

I should.

I should be able to close my eyes and sink into the dreamless oblivion that always comes after I’ve taken what I need.

Because tonight I took everything.

My throne. My kingdom. Mywife.

Lyra is sprawled across the chaise lounge: naked, exhausted. Her skin glows in the light of the dying fire, her limbs tangled in what’s left of her torn dress: its vain attempt to stay on her is almost comical.

Her skin is marred with the evidence of what I did to her. There’s blood—between her thighs, streaked across the shredded silk of her gown, on other expanses of her skin, where the sigil carved into my flesh rubbed her.

My ring glints on her finger mockingly.

She belongs to me now.

I watch her for a long time, my gaze dragging over the curve of her shoulder, the bruises already blooming on her thighs, the faint teeth marks on her skin. Seeing her like this—open, vulnerable—makes my blood stir again. A familiar pull deep in my gut, dark and relentless.

But this time, it isn’t just hunger.

It’s something else, that I refuse to name.

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